


Possible Dreams are the Only Kind

by Valentined



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: An Exercise in Making My Boy Fit the Original Canon, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Headcanon warning, OGC Compliant, Past Character Death, Whatever Happened to Kunsel?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 19:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valentined/pseuds/Valentined
Summary: How many SOLDIER did Avalanche actually fight? (Why is that number so low?)





	Possible Dreams are the Only Kind

“No.”

Heidegger was a short, angry man, made angrier by any perceived disrespect on his subordinates’ part. Kunsel’s most recent rejection of his orders only served as fuel to the blaze, and the director of Public Safety took a shaky breath, fury pushing harder at the edges of his demeanor with each passing second.

“What did you say?”

Kunsel kept his back straight, shoulders squared, the very picture of military precision in his black SOLDIER First Class uniform, the ranking mark emblazoned on his pauldrons made all the more obvious in the fluorescent light of Heidegger’s office.

“I said no, I will not be giving you use of my department’s manpower to chase after the terrorists.” There was a beat of silence before Kunsel angled his head ever so slightly, a physical mark of intentional disobedience, insubordination. “Sir.”

Heidegger’s voice rose. “You are not director of SOLDIER.”

“Neither are you. Sir.”

It was foolish, more than likely; just stupid, childish nostalgia. Kunsel had seen the young man from underplate mow down his men like balsa wood cutouts, had taken note of his faded First Class uniform—but more than anything it was his sword that gave Kunsel the determination to stand up here, to hold his ground.

He was certain it was just a replica—Angeal had been so popular before his death, as had Zack, there were Buster-type swords being made and sold underplate every day. But the way he handled it in the security feeds, the shift of his body when he swung to strike, the way he slid on his feet and spun it in his hands with such ease and familiarity it was almost intimate, that struck Kunsel. Deep in his chest, that made something ache.

The blond that had stormed Headquarters, supposedly helped murder the president and taken off into the night was not Zack.

But the way he moved seemed to say he _thought_ he was.

And Kunsel, years removed from the spiky-haired upstart he’d roomed with when he first made Second Class, couldn’t bring himself to target that. If they wanted the terrorist dead, Heidegger could put the Turks on it. Tseng, Kunsel thought with a surge of frustrated betrayal, would likely be more than willing to eradicate even this shadow of the young man ShinRa had destroyed in Nibelheim—the same way he hadn’t hesitated to kill his own Director less than a year ago.

“This is an outrage!” Heidegger roared, slamming his thick hands down on his desk and rising to his feet. “You’re SOLDIER, you’ll do what you’re told or—”

“Or what?” Kunsel interjected. Heidegger went quiet. Clearly he’d never thought about the possibility of SOLDIER standing against him, had never even addressed the concept of ShinRa’s superpowered army rising up in open insubordination. It hadn’t even seemed feasible since Genesis’ desertion, there were so few left.

The SOLDIER General reached up and pulled off his helmet, staving off his automatic wince at the light, to glare properly across the desk at his so-called superior officer, decorated with lies and stolen glory.

His voice was low and even when he spoke again. “Or what, you’ll do to me what you and Scarlet tried to do to Director Dragoon?”

The reaction Heidegger gave was more pronounced than Kunsel had expected; he paled, starting backward a half-step, bumping into his chair. Did he really think nobody knew about the kill order that had been put out on the Director of Administrative Research just, what, two years ago? Three? All because he refused to let his department me controlled by some powermongering idiot in a fake military uniform and a technophyllic megalomaniac in a slinky red dress.

If they would kill Veld, after more than thirty years loyal to ShinRa, Kunsel’s death wouldn’t even be a drop in the bucket.

…If not for one unique fact, one thing that set him apart from the older, otherwise more capable leader.

Kunsel was general of SOLDIER, and SOLDIERs were the most powerful loyalists to ever walk the planet. In the space of seven years they’d lost their Director, all three generals, one of the most promising First Classes on record, and just last year another two dozen of their friends and colleagues—maybe even three dozen—just disappeared from the roster without a word of explanation to anyone, Kunsel included. The fact that they disappeared in conjunction with several dozen troopers didn’t go unnoticed, but there was no explanation. No mission brief, no whispers in the halls. They were all just gone.

This department, this _family_, had already been ripped apart by the company that brought it into being. Kunsel, in gaining leadership of the group he’d so respected, so cared about, had lost everything.

He was done letting his men be forced into the same place.

“We’re SOLDIER,” he said sharply, green eyes narrowed. “We fight for honor, for each other, and for our dreams. And as long as I’m General, none of those ideals include you.” Holding his helmet in one hand, he leaned the free one on Heidegger’s desk, edging in closer. Corded muscle on his arms tensed, mako light in his eyes flaring brighter with his accelerated heartbeat, Kunsel refused to be moved. “I couldn’t stop you from killing me,” he said. “But _you_ couldn’t stop my men from killing you right back.” He dipped his head a little, voice dropping in time. “And they are very, very loyal.”

Then, and only then, did comprehension finally dawn in Heidegger’s eyes. In choosing him as general, in picking this quiet, soft-spoken, socially awkward techie in place of one of the larger, stronger, more physically capable SOLDIERs, they’d done what so many claimed the company had set out to do.

In the light of their goals and aspirations, their broken chain of command, they’d created a monster.

And thanks to the time he’d had to prove himself to the men that had so inadvertently become his, there was nothing the company could do about it. They’d thought the Turks were dangerous as a separate entity; what could they possibly do to fight off SOLDIER?

That night Kunsel had a drink with Luxiere, dropped off his daily infomongering results to Reno, and wrote an email to Zack. The pride in what he’d done, in what he’d refused to do, in knowing that the strange young man who screamed so much of his long lost best friend wouldn’t be killed by the same department Zack had loved, kept it from hurting quite so badly when the message failed to send.


End file.
